A Tainted Beauty

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘I can try,’ she said, knowing that she would give it her very best shot. Because what did she have to lose? Even if Ciro was angry with her for interfering, it wasn’t going to change anything between them, was it? She was leaving him—and Naples—that had already been decided. Yet if she could leave knowing that she had helped reconcile mother and son—then wouldn’t something good have come out of all this mess?

  Leonora’s disclosure had the effect of making Lily feel as if she’d woken up from an anaesthetic. Of making her want to rediscover something of herself. She realised she had stopped being the Lily who loved to create a cosy nest around her. She’d been so busy trying to survive in this hostile atmosphere that she’d completely forgotten who she really was. Yet hadn’t Ciro fallen for the woman who had baked cakes and tried to create a warm home? Even if he was still angry about her lack of innocence, surely she could remind him of the woman she had once been and all that she had represented to him.

  Suddenly, she could understand his refusal to look beyond the boundaries he had created for himself. She suspected that it was a defence mechanism—to stop himself from being hurt again, the way he’d been hurt as a child. He was a strong man who hated showing vulnerability, but couldn’t she convince him that she would never willingly hurt him—not ever again? That if he could forgive her past mistake, then she would gladly open up her heart and love him with every fibre of her being? That she would be loyal and true to him in every way she could.

  Filled with sudden hope, Lily found the nearest shop to their apartment. It was a small, dark place with an ancient fan which cut inefficiently through the warm, heavy air. Outside were boxes of oranges and tomatoes and inside were bottles of wine and rows of sweet biscuits. It took her a while to find what she was looking for, but eventually Lily managed to cobble together the ingredients for a cake, much to the surprise of the old woman who served her. Maybe she found it strange that the fair foreigner who spoke such faltering Italian should be baking a cake.

  Back at the apartment, she set to work, finding a roasting tray which would serve as a cake tin while seriously wondering whether Ciro’s state-of-the-art cooker had ever been used before now. But it felt good to lose herself in the familiar rhythms of baking. To hear the slop of the eggs as they fell onto the flour with a little puff, like smoke. She listened to the beating of the wooden spoon, which her cookery teacher had always said sounded like horses clip-clopping over cobblestones. She grated zest from the juiciest lemons she had ever used and soon the incomparable smell of fresh cake was filling Ciro’s very masculine apartment.

  She heard the front door slam soon after six. Heard him dropping his suitcase onto the floor and the momentary silence before his footsteps headed towards the kitchen. His face registered very little when he saw her, save for a barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes. Perhaps he was noticing the inevitable smears of cake-mix on her cotton dress since, naturally, she had no apron here.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he questioned slowly.

  ‘You mean apart from making a cake?’ she enquired, determinedly cheerful as she opened the smoked glass door of the oven to extract it.

  Ciro watched the curve of her bottom as she bent forward and it mimicked the very first time he’d seen her baking, when he’d been blown away by the sight of her luscious young body. The memory should have filled him with desire but instead all he felt was a crushing sense of sadness. He stared at the cake as she put it down. ‘What’s all this in aid of?’

  Would she sound crazy if she told him that she’d needed to reclaim something familiar? Something which would make her feel like herself again—instead of a woman who was just playing a part. She lifted her eyes to meet his, praying for his understanding.

  ‘I’ve just realised how long it is since I’ve done any baking. Would you like some? It always tastes best when you eat it straight from the oven.’

  He shook his head as her words seem to fly out of the air to mock him. She’d said them once before, a long time ago—and they reminded him of everything he’d hoped for. All those simple pleasures which now seemed a world away from the bittersweet reality of their life together. ‘No, thanks,’ he said, wondering why he should care that her face had crumpled with disappointment and that she was biting on her lip as if she was trying to stop it from trembling. ‘Did you go and see my mother?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And?’

  Lily stared at him. Maybe if he’d been a little more understanding—a little kinder—then she might have trodden carefully. If he’d accepted a slice of warm cake as a gesture of conciliation, then inevitably she would have softened. But in that moment his cold face seemed to confirm all the things his mother had said about him and any thoughts of diplomacy rushed straight out of her mind. ‘She told me a few very interesting things.’

  Ciro loosened his tie. He wanted to affect lack of interest, to tell her that he didn’t really care, but the truth of it was that his curiosity had been aroused. ‘Oh?’ he questioned. ‘Such as?’

  She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Such as you’ve never forgiven her for having boyfriends when you were young.’

  There was brief, disbelieving pause. ‘She said what?’ he questioned dangerously.

  ‘Did you know that your mother suffered post-natal depression?’ she asked quickly. ‘And that was one of the reasons your father left her?’

  ‘So it was all his fault?’ he snapped.

  ‘It’s nobody’s fault!’ she retorted, but she could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage. ‘It’s just the way things were. Nobody was doing very much about post-natal depression back then. Your mother told me… well, she said she wanted you to have a father figure you could look up to.’

  ‘That was very good of her,’ he ground out. ‘She certainly auditioned enough men for that particular role!’

  ‘You’re hateful,’ Lily whispered as she saw the unforgiving hardness in his eyes. ‘Can’t you see that your mother’s getting older and she’s terrified she’s going to die and that none of this stuff will be resolved?’

  ‘That’s enough!’ he snapped.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ she fired back. ‘It’s not nearly enough! I actually found myself feeling sorry for her, for having to put up with your coldness and your control-freakery ways all these years. Except that now I discover that I’m doing exactly the same. I’m behaving in a way I’m growing to despise.’

  His voice was a hiss of deadly silk. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about me accepting the unacceptable! About us maintaining this façade of a marriage for however many months you think we should—just for the sake of your damned image!’

  There was a pause. ‘But we agreed, Lily.’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ she said. But hadn’t there been an ulterior motive behind her easy agreement, even if she hadn’t acknowledged it at the time? Hadn’t part of her hoped that time might dissolve some of his anger towards her? That they could get back some of what they’d once had—something which she had called love and which she’d hoped Ciro might one day come to feel for her, too. Except that they hadn’t, had they? He had shown no sign of softening—not to the woman who had given birth to him, and not to the woman he’d married either. No matter what their supposed ‘sins’ were, there was no forgiveness in Ciro D’Angelo’s heart for the women who had hurt him. And the longer she stayed, the more damaged her own heart would become. Especially as she just couldn’t seem to stop loving him, no matter what he threw at her.

  ‘But I’ve changed my mind,’ she said slowly. ‘I can’t maintain this false life with you any longer. And I want to go back to England.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ he said repressively.

  ‘Why, won’t you allow me to?’ Fearlessly now, she met his dark eyes. ‘Will you go one step further in your very convincing role as tyrant husband and try to stop me? Chain me to the sofa, perhaps—or keep me on a very long leash?’

  She didn’t
wait for him to answer, just ran to the bathroom and locked the slammed door behind her. She stared at her ashen face in the mirror and heard the loud beat of her heart, knowing there was one certain way guaranteed to give her back her freedom. But could she do it? Could she go through with it?

  She was in there for ten minutes before she heard him calling her name and knew she had to face him—because wasn’t that the whole point of what she’d done? But the taste in her mouth was bitter as she slowly opened the door to him and she saw the revulsion in his eyes even before she heard the ragged breath of horror he sucked in.

  ‘Per l’amor del cielo!’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘Lily, what have you done?’

  She saw his disbelieving gaze travelling over her shoulder, where thick strands of her hair were lying all over the bathroom floor, like shiny heaps of harvested corn. Together with an unfamiliar lightness of head, she felt the jagged, shorn locks brushing against her jaw and she raised it up towards him in a defiant gesture.

  ‘What have I done? I’ve broken my promise,’ she said, unable to keep the emotional tremor from her voice, because that revulsion was still on his face. And for the first time ever, she recoiled from the hand that reached out and touched her. For once, the feel of his fingers on her arms did not trigger off an unstoppable lust but a sensation of disgust. How could she have let herself stay in such a terrible situation? Giving herself night after night to a man who clearly despised her. Did she have no pride; no self-respect?

  She pulled away from him, her breath coming short and fast from her throat. ‘I’ve cut my hair!’ she declared. ‘It’s something I said I wouldn’t do but now I have. I’ve broken my promise and it’s symbolic and final. I’m freeing you from our marriage, Ciro—and I’m freeing myself, too. And I want… no, I need to go home.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HE DIDN’T try to stop her. That was the part which shattered Lily most of all. Ciro didn’t say a word to try to change her mind about leaving. Yet when she stopped to think about it—had she really expected anything different? Had she imagined that her proud and unforgiving husband would turn round and beg her to stay? To maintain this farce of a marriage?

  In fact she was taken aback by the speed of his reaction to her demand to go home. It was as if he’d suddenly realised that the kind of woman who hacked off her hair in a moment of high emotion would never have made a suitable wife for a high-born Neapolitan. His face looked as if it had been sculpted from a hard, dark marble as he looked at her.

  ‘Perhaps this is all for the best,’ he said, in an odd, flat voice. ‘When do you want to leave?’

  ‘As soon as possible!’ she blurted out, knowing that to prolong this state of affairs would be an agony which would only add to her growing heartache. ‘I’ll fly out this afternoon, if I can.’

  His horrified gaze returned to the piles of silken hair which were still lying on the bathroom floor and then he lifted reluctant eyes to the shorn strands which untidily framed her face. ‘Wouldn’t you rather go and see a hairdresser first?’

  His question only added to her distress, even though she suspected he might have a point. Because didn’t the hasty cut give her the appearance of some crazy woman, who would bring disrepute to the D’Angelo name?

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll cover it up with a hat.’ Her voice rose to a note of near-hysteria. ‘Who knows? It might start a new trend of do-it-yourself hairdressing.’

  Ciro felt the twisting of some nameless emotion as he looked at her, thinking that the short style made her face seem all eyes. Enormous sapphire eyes which were glittering up at him with the suspicion of tears.

  ‘I’ll have my lawyers draw up a contract—and the Grange will be signed over to you as part of the divorce settlement. I will also honour my commitment to pay your brother through his course at art school.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘You might as well leave the marriage with what you came into it for. Riches beyond your wildest dreams, wasn’t it, Lily?’

  The accusation hit her hard and Lily sucked in an unsteady breath, feeling slightly ill as she realised that he’d written her off as mercenary. ‘I don’t want anything from you, Ciro.’

  ‘You want the Grange.’

  Fighting back tears, she shook her head. ‘I don’t want it that much.’ Because wouldn’t her old family home feel tainted if she accepted it under such dreadful circumstances? Wouldn’t she feel tainted if she came over as greedy and grasping? And she was damned if she was going to give Ciro yet another reason to despise her.

  ‘You want your brother to go to art school.’

  ‘Not at any price. We’ll work it out somehow. If Jonny is good enough, then he’ll get a scholarship. And if he’s not—well, something else will come his way, because that’s how life works for most people.’

  ‘Proud words, Lily—but I doubt whether you mean them.’ His mouth gave a twist. ‘You’ll soon change your mind when you speak to my lawyers. I always find there’s something very persuasive about seeing hard offers of cash written down in black and white.’

  ‘But that’s where you’re wrong, Ciro,’ she returned, the cynicism of his words sending an icy shiver down her spine. ‘When will you get it into your head that this was never about the money?’

  ‘Then what was it about?’ Dark eyebrows arched with arrogant disbelief. ‘The thunderbolt?’

  She wanted to say yes. To tell him that what he’d felt about her had been mutual—but what would be the point when he’d never believe her? Ciro had fallen for someone who didn’t really exist—a make-believe woman he’d put on some unachievable pedestal. And maybe she’d fallen for someone who didn’t exist, too. Because no matter how powerful his passion for her, there was no way that he was ever going to make a good husband. What kind of future could ever be found with a man who was always so coldly judgemental about women?

  ‘It doesn’t matter any more,’ she said, in a small voice. ‘It’s over.’

  Ciro flinched as her words filled him with unexpected pain, but he told himself she was right. It was over. And maybe her abrupt departure would be best—for both of them.

  He made a couple of telephone calls and two hours later he was carrying her bags downstairs, where a driver was waiting to take her to the airport. The last thing he remembered seeing was the glitter in her bright blue eyes, before she quickly put on a large pair of shades. Then she tugged at the floppy straw hat which concealed the unfamiliar hairstyle and, almost impulsively, stood on tiptoe to brush her lips over his cheek.

  ‘Goodbye, Ciro,’ she said, in a strange, gulping kind of voice. ‘You… you take care of yourself.’

  ‘You, too,’ he said—but a sudden sense of something almost like panic unsettled him. As if he’d just jumped out of an aircraft and forgotten to put on his parachute. ‘Lily—’

  ‘Please. Let’s not drag this out any more than we need to,’ she said quickly as she moved away from him and climbed into the car.

  He watched as she was driven away, waiting for her to turn back to look at him one more time—but she didn’t. All he could see was the stiff set of her shoulders and the large hat which hid her shorn head from the world. For a moment he stood completely still, oblivious to the people who passed him by. And when eventually he went back inside, he was surprised to find that his heart was still heavy, though he reassured himself that such a reaction was only natural after such an unexpectedly emotional departure. And that within a few days the memory of his brief marriage would fade.

  But it didn’t happen that way. The reality was very different—and it took Ciro by surprise. He found that his life had changed in so many ways. It had changed by her coming here, as well as by her leaving. And it was the little things which seemed to mock him most and to remind him that she really had gone. Suddenly, the bed seemed too big. He would wake in the mornings, his hand groping towards the space beside him, to find nothing but emptiness and an unruffled sheet instead of Lily’s soft and welcoming body.

  He soon discovered
that, once word got round that his wife had gone back to England, he was being seen as being ‘back on the market’, with a corresponding flurry of interest from the opposite sex. And he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. The women who came onto him repulsed him and he found their conversation dull. He realised that Lily had been excellent company on their many evenings out—as well as having many other obvious attractions once they’d returned home. Dinner suddenly seemed either a too-solitary meal, or a ritual to be endured amid company he had no wish to join.

  He phoned the London office of his lawyers, wanting to hear that she had grasped the very generous settlement he was offering her—as if hearing that would remind himself of her mercenary nature. But she had done no such thing. Slowly, Ciro registered what the bemused voice of his lawyer was telling him. That Lily D’Angelo was walking away from the marriage with nothing.

  ‘Nothing?’ Ciro echoed in disbelief.

  ‘Niente,’ came the answer in Italian, just so there could be no misunderstanding.

  Ciro brooded. He asked someone he knew in London to investigate what she was doing and the answer which came back surprised him. She was still living in the apartment above the tearoom and had resumed her job as a waitress. She had gone back to Chadwick Green. It perplexed him to think she had settled for so little when she could have had so much—and it threw all his certainties into doubt. Until some news came to him from the same investigator, which he regarded with a grim kind of satisfaction.

  She had put her mother’s pearls up for auction!

  Ciro felt a resigned satisfaction as he read that the beautiful necklace had exceeded its reserve price many times over. The necklace which had reminded her of her dead mother had been sold to a mystery buyer in America. So much for sentiment! He remembered the way her blue eyes had clouded over when she’d told him that her stepmother had taken them. And her touching gratitude as he’d recovered them and placed them around her neck. He’d imagined that she had been thinking of her mother at the time, when the truth was far more materialistic. She had realised, of course, the enormous value of the jewels—and known that they would always provide her with a sizeable little nest-egg until she found herself some other poor sucker to support her.